Capture
by Gefionne
Summary: Sansa Stark escapes from the Eyrie only to be captured by Gregor Clegane. SanSan.


**"Capture" is a little bit of my past. It is one of the very first fanfics I wrote, back when I was 14. I've only changed a few grammatical things. The introduction is authentic (and totally hilarious), too. Come for a trip down memory lane with me if you like...**

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><p><em>In this alternate version of Sansa's story, she has been married to the Imp, Tyrion Lannister, who is everything but a handsome knight. Fortunately, her mother's old friend, Lord Littlefinger, an affectionate nickname of course, manages to sneak her out of the city. Little does she know that he was only doing it to try to get her to love him. Sansa manages to escape from Littlefinger's keep only to fall into the hands of Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides, and elder brother to the Hound, a scarred and vengeful man in Prince Joffery's service who has a soft spot for Sansa.<em>

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><p>Sansa heard a rustle in the bush beside her. "Who's there?" She drew the small dagger she had lifted from Lord Littlefinger. A harsh laughter filled the air. Sansa would have screamed, but her voice deserted her. A hand grabbed her arm and pulled her against a hard chest.<p>

"Well, well, well…what have we here?" The voice was deep and frightening. The figure was massive. _No! Oh Gods No!_

"A little girl?" He crouched down so his face was level with Sansa's. His breath stunk of wine and rotten meat. "I've seen you before. Somewhere in King's Landing." Gregor Clegane smiled. "You're Eddard Stark's bitch pup aren't you?" Sansa spit in his face. He roared and dealt her a fierce backhand blow to the cheek. Then he laughed again. _He is worse than his brother._

"How did the little wolf bitch get all the way out here?" the Mountain questioned.

"Why should I tell you?" Sansa snapped. That earned her another backhand.

"Tell me, bitch, which one are you?"

She held her head high. "Sansa Stark." All of the men around her laughed then.

Clegane grabbed her by the chin and turned her face to either side. He pushed her shoulders and he squeezed each of her breasts. "Yes, I can see why he might have wanted you." _Who wanted me?_

Standing, he said to his men, "Take her to camp. Feed her, beat her, I don't care, but none of you try to rape her. When my dog of a brother gets here, he can take her, right before I smash his head in."

The next few days were a blur of pain to Sansa. She spent her time tied up to a tree in the middle of Gregor Clegane's camp. She was fed cold oat bran twice a day. Water was brought with every meal. At night one or more of the men would come down and hit her. By the time they were done, Sansa wished for Joffery's beatings. _At least he had been sober and I knew who he was._ Most of the men she had never even seen.

Clegane himself came one morning to inform Sansa of his plan. "Soon, bitch, my brother will come down the Kingsroad. You'll walk right out to meet him. If you even try to give us away, I'll have an arrow in your throat before you can even think. Got it?"

Sansa spit at him. He gave her a bloody lip and a few bruises to go with it. If she had been younger she would have broken down into hysteria, but not a tear was shed, nor a scream uttered.

"Arya! Wait for me!" Bran called after his older sister. The sun was shining as brightly as dragon-fire. Sansa was back at Winterfell playing monsters and maidens. She tripped over a root, but Robb caught her. His eyes were kind, but he transformed into Lord Littlefinger. "Lady Sansa, you look more lovely than your mother ever did." He bent down to kiss her, but his comely face twisted into the Hound's. He smiled wickedly. "Sing for me, little bird," he rasped.

Sansa awoke sweating and breathing hard. It wasn't Sandor Clegane's face she was looking into, but Gregor Clegane's.

"Time to work, bitch," he said. She was given a thick, black cloak to cover her wounds. She put the hood up.

"Remember, bitch, everything goes as planned," Clegane commanded. Sansa only looked at him, eyes emotionless. They disappeared into the woods and she was left alone on the Kingsroad. She sang lightly all the hymns and ballads she had ever learned.

The sun was past it highest point when Sansa heard the clop of a horse's hooves. The charger was no plow horse. Sansa walked out into center of the path. She began to sing the ballad of Florien and Jonquil.

For a moment she thought he was going to ride past her. Then he reigned up directly in front of her.

"Get out the way!" he commanded. Sansa continued the song.

The Hound glared at her. "Get the bloody hell out of my way!"

"_It was a forbidden love, forbidden romance, a passion undying…_"

"I told you to get out of my way!" He went for his sword; Sansa sang on.

"_It was the tale of Florien and his fair Jonquil. It was a passion undying._"

Sandor Clegane's expression changed. "L-Little bird?"

"I never sang it for you," she whispered.

"W-what are you doing here?"

"Please listen, ser."

"My bloody name is Sandor," he growled, dismounting.

"Just listen to me. You have to get away from here." She looked around. "Now."

"What?" He took a step toward her and reached his hand out.

She shied away. "Please! Get out of here. They're going to kill you!" Clegane grabbed her roughly to him. Her hood fell back. He saw the trickle of dried blood at the corner of her mouth and the black eye and bruises. His eyes filled with anger.

"Who did this to you?"

A harsh laugh came from beside them. The Hound dropped to his knees. He pulled Sansa against him with one arm and drew his sword with the other. The girl wrapped her arms around him.

"Hello brother," the Mountain said, grinning.

"Gregor," the younger brother growled.

"Nothing else to say? No threats? No curses? I'm disappointed in you, Sandor. Do you not want to hurt your whore's innocent ears?"

"She has nothing to do with this, _brother_."

"You are very wrong. If I had her, I had you. Such a twisted romance; the beautiful and fair maiden and the hideous and vile _dog_."

"Go to hell."

"I'll see you there."

The Hound laid Sansa down next to his horse. He sprang at his brother. Gregor was ready; he blocked and thrust easily with his monstrous great sword. Sandor roared and carelessly hurled himself forward. The Mountain swung down low. His brother was alert enough to draw back, but he was not fast enough. The cut slashed through his jerkin and tunic.

_He's too angry to concentrate._ The brothers hacked at each other. Gregor gave Sandor a gash on the left shoulder. The Mountain received one across his back.

"You fight well, Sandor."

"Better than you, Gregor." The Hound ducked under a swing.

"Hah! You've never been as good as me!" He backed away from Sandor's blade.

"That's right, Gregor. Since we were children, you were better." He whirled around. "You always had the better training!

"And toys," to older brother sneered.

"You never liked that knight anyway. It was me who wanted to be one."

"But I _was_ one."

"I was eight, Gregor, _eight_. And you condemned me to a life of looking like this." He threw a blow to the Mountain's arm. He grunted in pain.

"You deserved it!"

"NO ONE DESERVES THIS! NOT EVEN THE FOULEST SHEEP-FUCKER!" As the Hound moved forward, Gregor Clegane lost his balance. He landed hard on his back. Sandor Clegane put the point of his long sword against his brother's neck.

"Do it, Sandor," he rasped. "Kill me. I would have done the same for you." Sandor Clegane grabbed a torch from a man near him.

"Before I cut your heart out, Gregor, I want you to feel what it's like."

The fire licked at the Mountain's face. His screams were the most terrible sounds Sansa had ever heard. She shivered. The men from the camp scattered.

The Hound smiled as he took the flame away. "Goodbye, brother," he whispered and drove his sword through Gregor Clegane's chest.

Sandor Clegane walked over to where Sansa sat and sheathed his sword. Sansa looked up at his form as he dropped to his knees in front of her. She had nothing to say to this man, this man who had killed his own brother to save her life.

There was a slight glimmer on the Hound's face. Sansa cupped his cheek with her fingers. He closed his eyes as she drew his head down onto her lap. He seemed contented just to lay there, Sansa's fingers brushing over his naked scalp.

"Sandor. We must go," Sansa whispered, after a while. Only then did Sandor Clegane stir. He grabbed the reins of his horse and lifted Sansa up onto its back. He vaulted on behind her. They cantered off.

Night had descended when they made camp. As he made a fire, Sansa sat against the trunk of a tree, his cloak wrapped tightly around her.

"We'll have to tend your wounds," Sansa Stark said. The Hound nodded and sat before her. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

"That won't do," Sansa said. "Take it off." He looked a little surprised, but obeyed without complaint.

His chest was hard, every muscle defined. There were many scars covering it, though.

Sansa dabbed his shoulder gently. He grunted. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. He nodded. A fine line of red stretched across his chest. She cleaned it and placed a piece of linen on top. She reached under his arms and tied it. As she went to pull back, she felt his hands reach up and take hers. Sandor Clegane pulled her close against him. _He wants me, just as the Mountain had said._

Sansa closed her eyes. She was back in her bedchamber in King's Landing. The city was alight with green fire. The Hound had been sleeping in her bed. He held her at dagger-point and made her sing for him. He had been drunk and scared to madness.

"Come with me. I can keep you safe. They're all afraid of me. No one would ever hurt you again, or I'd kill them," he had said before he disappeared from the city. And he had cried.

When her eyes opened, Sansa found herself wanting him. What he looked like, what he did, it made no matter. As their lips touched, all of Sansa's fear dissolved.

Sandor lay her down and kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her nose, and her lips. He undid the laces of her bodice and pushed it off. His fingers swept strands of her hair away. He pulled the tattered shift over her head. Sandor kissed each of her breasts, letting his tongue brush the nipples. Sansa shivered agreeably and bit her lip to keep from calling out.

When her lord husband, Tyrion Lannister, had made her take off her clothes, she had almost cried. As the Hound undressed her, she felt as if she had done this a hundred times.

When Sansa was naked as her name day, Sandor began undressing himself. Sansa could hardly breathe. He lifted her onto his hips. Sansa said, gently, "I…I don't know how."

"Let me show you," he murmured.


End file.
